‘Okay, last one,’ she concedes. ‘How did the big pitch go this morning?’
‘Mmm,’ I nod through my cosmopolitan. ‘We got the work.’
‘Excellent! Shame you’ll have to spend more time under Jack, though.’
‘Less of the “under Jack”,’ I say, only half in jest. ‘Anyway, they’ve asked me to take the lead on the matter with Jack supervising. It’s a really big deal, I think.’
‘Wow, yeah it is; that’s a great opportunity. Is it to save costs, do you think?’
‘Hey!’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ She giggles.
‘Well, actually, yes. But like you say, it’s a good opportunity and the CEO is a bit… interesting.’
‘Interesting?’ Amanda takes her turn to raise a brow.
‘Okay, yes, he’s extremely hot and must be filthy rich but that’s not what I mean. He’s kind of, I don’t know, serious and sexy and polite and…’ I shrug, genuinely unsure of how I feel about the billionaire CEO.
‘Somebody likes somebody,’ Amanda purrs.
‘As if I do. I’d never go there. We can’t ever go there. Clients are a strict no-go. Jack would throw me out on my arse.’
‘Yeah, because you chose someone else over his ugly, wrinkling vileness.’ She shudders for effect, the ultimate dramatic-arts prodigy.
‘Amanda! He’s my boss. Urgh, another year or so and maybe I won’t have to work in his shadow. Anyway, no, Gregory, erm, Mr Ryans, is not interesting in a good way… I don’t think.’
‘Well, if he’s a gorgeous bazillionaire and you’re not interested, please send him my way. I’d gladly ruin my career for that!’
The waitress returns to take our empty glasses and Amanda settles the bill for the second round of drinks, tapping her smart watch against the contactless machine.
‘Bear hug and smooches,’ she demands, then plants a kiss on my cheek and squeezes me as tightly as she can before she heads in one direction for her bus north to Camden and I walk in another to catch the underground to West London.
3
My excitement builds as I ride the nine stops home on the Tube. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t wait to hear him say my name and watch his face light up as I read him chapters from his favourite book. In those brief moments, when he remembers, he’s my same old comforting, sweet, gentle and polite Dad. He can still melt my heart with the twinkle in his eye that he reserves just for me.
The jerk of inertia as the Tube comes to a stop forces the couple who’ve been playing tonsil tennis beside me for twenty minutes to come up for air.
Two security men in padded, hi-vis jackets gawp as I burst from the Tube and bound up the steps from the platform to the street. I run along our road and halt in front of our townhouse to catch my breath before pushing through the wrought-iron gate and darting up the path to the porch. I fumble trying to place my key in the lock then throw my bag on the hall table as I practically jump inside.
‘Hi, Sandy!’
‘Hello, Sweets. How was your day?’ she asks in her usual singsong way, always sounding much older than her forty-two years.
‘Busy but good. How’s your day been? How’s Dad?’
‘He’s doing well today,’ she says, helping me out of my mac and hanging it on the hat stand in the vestibule. ‘He sat in his chair for the best part of the morning. We even managed a game of cards.’
It’s another fleeting and increasingly rare moment of good health and happiness. I know better than to be optimistic but Sandy still beams with pride, her smile reaching her brown cheeks, her warm eyes glowing.
‘He’s been asking for you,’ she adds.
I can’t prevent a goofy grin spreading from ear to ear as I kick my shoes off onto the polished, rosewood floor. ‘He has?’
‘He really has. Today’s been the best I’ve seen him in weeks.’ She’s triumphant, as if an invisible barrier has been crossed.
‘I can’t wait to see him. Thank you so much for looking after him so I could have a drink tonight.’
